Remembering Phoenix Read online

  “No.”

  “Okay, well, pizza can come to us.”

  “You don’t give up, do you? I’m not kissing you again, so you can go ahead and get that out of your head.”

  I dial the pizza place down the street and order a large pepperoni pizza. I look back up at Charlie. “Who said I wanted to kiss you again?”

  She looks at me stunned for a few seconds. “Uh. No one.”

  “Maybe I just like your company,” I sit back down on the couch, grabbing the remote and turn the television on, flipping through channels.

  “I’m not a very pleasant person.”

  I find Steel Magnolias on a movie channel and turn it on. It seems fitting for the occasion.

  “So I’ve noticed. Are you a Ouiser?”

  Her mouth goes agape. “You’ve seen Steel Magnolias?” she asks in disbelief. “I’ve watched it a million times in the past two years.”

  “I have. It was my mom’s favorite. I was the good son who watched her favorite movies with her.”

  She looks at me with those big, green eyes as they start to shimmer with unshed tears.

  Shit. Don’t cry, Charlie.

  “That’s really sweet,” she whispers.

  “What can I say? I’m a good guy.” I hope this makes her laugh.

  Please laugh, Charlie.

  Her mouth kicks up at the corner. A sound comes out of her and it’s like angels are singing.

  She laughs. She really laughs.

  Keep laughing, Charlie.

  “I love when you laugh.” Great job, Slayter. Way to act like she doesn’t affect you.

  She stops laughing suddenly and stares at me blankly for a moment.

  “I often forget what it’s like to laugh.”

  “You should laugh every single day,” I admit. “You’re even more beautiful when you laugh.” There you go again, letting your mouth overload your ass.

  “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Stop that—saying I’m beautiful. I’m not beautiful and I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

  Whoa. She said the L word. Not in that context, but she still said it.

  “Who said anything about loving me?”

  She lets her mouth hang open for a moment before speaking. “No one. I just felt it was important for you to know, I am incapable of loving anyone. Ever.”

  “You don’t need to love me if you let me kiss you again. I’m good with just kissing…and maybe more.”

  She laughs again, and dammit, there’s a twitching going on and it’s brutal. Brutal yet amazing.

  Shit.

  “Can we just watch this movie? Shirley MacLaine and Olympia Dukakis make me laugh.”

  “We can watch it on repeat, then.” I wink at her. I could be crazy, but I swear I just saw her cheeks grow a little redder.

  We watch the movie. No, I lie, she watches the movie and I watch her. I’m lost in watching her laugh, seeing her eyes squint with laughter when a really funny scene happens, until the doorbell rings. I snap out of my unabashed staring and run to the door, grabbing the pizza. I throw a wad of cash at the delivery guy, and tell him thanks. I probably gave him enough money to pay this month’s bills, but I don’t care. I need to see Charlie laugh more—now.

  “Pizza?” I ask, putting the box on the coffee table.

  “Sure.”

  I grab a slice and take a huge bite off of it, and hand Charlie a slice. “Uh,” she says, taking the greasy pizza. “I have plates. Napkins, even.”

  “No need to waste good China on pizza. Eat.”

  We eat our pizza in comfortable silence. She nibbles at her pizza, her one slice to my three.

  “That was good, but I’m full.”

  “You ate one slice.”

  “It was a big slice.”

  I shake my head at her. “I could eat the whole pizza by myself. Probably why my abs disappeared.” She eyes me up and down until she catches me watching her watching me, then she turns her head away from me quickly. “I caught that.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” she says, staring at the television. She tries to stifle a grin.

  “Why the black, Charlie?”

  “What?” She shakes her head, smiling. “You’re extremely random.”

  I point to her clothes. “You’re always in all black. Why the black?”

  “You really want to know the answer to that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Because colors remind me of happy, and that’s not me.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “Is that really even a question?”

  I scoot closer to her, throwing my arm on the couch behind her head. “Yeah it is.”

  Charlie slowly turns her head and looks at me before turning back to the television. “I’m not answering that.”

  “No one said you had to. I just want to know more about you. Even the sides you don’t like.”

  She takes a shuddering breath and stares at me for a second, neither one of us saying a word. Her eyes are pained, tears swim around, threatening to fall over her lashes. “Because my life was ripped from me. I don’t even know who I am.”

  “You don’t have to know who you’ve been or who you are. You just have to know who you want to be.”

  “Are you a shrink?”

  “No. I just like to get what people are thinking out of their minds before it swallows them whole.”

  She looks up at me through those dark lashes. There’s so much pain and suffering bottled up inside that beautiful head of hers.

  I don’t know why I feel a pull to her. I don’t know why, but every time I see her, it makes me only want to be around her that much more. I don’t know why I have this innate need to just be a part of her life. I thought all of my life’s purpose was gone the day I got the results from the paternity test in. I was broken. I went to the bar looking to forget all my problems because I thought they were too much to carry. Then I met Charlie. And how can I go through my life wanting to forget, when I’m lucky enough to have a memory that allows me to remember? Missing Claire hurts. It hurts like hell, but at least I have memories I can grasp on to when I think about her. Charlie doesn’t even have that.

  Maybe I have this invisible pull to Charlie because she showed me life was so much more than my petty problems. She showed me there are people out there who would kill to have the problems I have. I just hope I can maybe give her some sense of normalcy in a life that is anything but.

  “You’re one of the only people who has ever talked to me like I’m a human being and not a fragile piece of glass. I am fragile. I know that, but it’s nice to feel like someone isn’t walking on eggshells around me.”

  I stroke my thumb along her shoulder before pulling her into me. She hesitates for a moment before succumbing, and falling into my side. “I didn’t come here to just get my coat,” I confess.

  “I know,” she whispers. “I’m really glad you’re here. I get so lost in my own misery when I’m alone. I let the darkness consume me. You saved me from that today. Thank you.”

  “You don’t ever have to thank me. I’ve got you, Charlie.”

  “Why?” Her voice is so soft, I’m not even sure she wanted me to hear.

  “I’m still trying to figure that out,” I murmur, brushing my lips along the top of her head.

  She leans her head back and looks up at me. Our faces are mere inches apart. I want to swoop in and kiss every ounce of hurt and sorrow off her beautiful face, out of her heart, and make her whole. I wish I could fix it—fix her hurt—but I can’t.

  I want to kiss her so badly, but I won’t. Because, if I kiss her, I’ll get lost in her while she runs, and I won’t let that happen. So I’m going to walk away. Right now, at least.

  “I’ve got to go. It’s getting late.”

  She quickly stands up, nodding her head. “Yeah, yeah. I need to pack, anyway. Thanks for the pizza.”

  “You can have the leftovers. I had ple
nty.”

  She grabs the pizza and puts it away, then walks towards the door. I follow behind. “Thanks for uh… visiting. I actually didn’t have a miserable time.”

  “Ahh. Progress,” I tease.

  “Yeah,” she says, looking down at her feet, “progress.”

  “Be safe on your trip. Can I see you when you get back?”

  Her eyes snap up to mine. “Why do you want to see me?”

  I don’t know why, Charlie.

  “Does there have to be a reason?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Precisely.” I have one hand on the door, and the other is burning for another chance to touch her. I bring my hand up and brush the back along the side of her face.

  I can feel it. The tangible current that happens every time we touch. By the look in her eye—wide eyed, and scared, yet excited—I can tell she feels it too. “Take care, Charlie McGee.”

  She inhales a deep breath of air, and I know she feels the same thing I do. It makes it that much harder to walk out of this door without feeling her lips on mine. “See you later, Slayter Beck.”

  “Excuse me. Pardon me.”

  I don’t know why I keep saying it. This airport is busting at the seams with businessmen and women, and they’re ignoring everything I say. Next time someone ignores my “excuse me’s,” I’m going to just scream, “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY, ASSHOLE!”

  I grab on to my camera bag tightly, trying to make my way through the bustle of the DFW airport.

  I learned so much this past week in Nashville at the photography workshop. I met some crazy talented photographers and really honed in on what my niche is.

  I like the dark. The emotional. I love the photos that tell a story, the ones you look at and it makes you think. Not all of my work is pretty, and that’s okay. I don’t think life is pretty, so why should photography be?

  I have this questionnaire I ask my clients. Questions that make them uncomfortable, questions that make them think and delve into that place they don’t normally go.

  1) If you had an hour to live, how would you live it?

  2) What is your biggest regret?

  3) Name the thing you hate most about yourself. Can you explain why you hate it?

  4) What would you do if you woke up one morning and knew no one?

  5) Can you explain the day you got the most heartbreaking news of your life?

  I get it. The questions could be seen as stupid, ignorant. Intrusive, even. But I don’t care. I don’t care because all of those questions are out of the norm. They make my clients feel. They make them ponder on everything—life, death, fears, dreams. And when they tell me the answer to the last question, it tears them up in the most beautifully heartbreaking way. I make them ignore me when they’re talking. We go about the shoot and I tell them where to stand, letting them lead the rest of the way for the photos.

  They talk. They stop. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they laugh. Sometimes they cry and laugh at the same time. But they always end up with fantastic, real, photos. Not because of me and my skills, because you can’t fake raw, unbridled emotion.

  You can’t fake heartbreak.

  You can’t fake real.

  “Sweetie. Sweetie!”

  I snap out of it. “Yes?”

  “You’re just standing here, and people are about to plow over you. I don’t want you to get hurt,” this old lady, wearing a floral button up tucked into pressed jeans, says to me.

  “Shit,” I mumble under my breath. Here I am, in the middle of the airport, not even moving as people zoom by me. Now, I’m the asshole.

  “Thank you,” I reply, stepping to the side of the foot traffic.

  The lady pushes her glasses up on her nose and looks up at me. She smooths back her silver hair. “You look like you could use a smile or two, honey. You’re entirely too beautiful to look so sad.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not sad,” I assure her.

  Or am I trying to assure myself?

  “Sweetie. I’ve been on this earth all of seventy-four years. I might be slower than I once was, but my brain is still in high gear. I can spot sadness anywhere. And you dear, I can tell you’ve endured your fair share.”

  I just look at her in awe. “Life hasn’t always been kind,” I admit with a smile, trying to seem a little happier.

  “Ah. Yes. Well, life’s only promise is that we have the present. It’s never promised us any other thing, has it?”

  “It sure hasn’t.” I flash her a strained smile. Talking to strangers isn’t my favorite thing. “Well, I better get going.”

  “Me too, dear. I have a plane to catch. I’m going to spend some time with my children and grandchildren. They make me so very happy.” She pats my shoulder. “Spend time with who makes you happy. It’s good for the soul.”

  I nod. “Yes ma’am. Have a good day.” I walk away with a genuine smile on my face, only one person on my mind.

  Spend time with who makes you happy…

  I squeeze the lemon juice into my water and plop the lemon down in it, twirling it around with my straw. I take a sip before checking my phone for the time, deciding to text Lizzie. I’m tired of waiting.

  Where are you?

  She texts me back a few seconds later.

  I’m here. See you in a sec.

  Thank God.

  I lock my phone and stuff it in my clutch.

  “Hey. I’m sorry. I got here as fast as I could,” Lizzie says, hurrying to the table.

  “It’s okay.”

  “The couple who came to view the property was almost an hour late, then they took forever to go through it. If they don’t buy this house, I might strangle myself. I’ll be so glad when I get a new job.” She sighs as she sits down at the table.

  “So, I would ask how your day went, but I think I get the picture.”

  “Well, it was rather good up until that point. So it wasn’t all bad. I just hate pain in the ass clients, but if they buy this house, I’ll kind of love them.”

  I just nod my head in response, because I know nothing about real estate or buying a house. I’ll forever live in my apartment. Alone. And I won’t even have a cat.

  “Sounds fun,” I deadpan, slouching down in my seat.

  “Smartass.”

  I shrug. “I’ve been told I’ve always been one.”

  “That you have,” she agrees. “So, uhm, we’ll have a bit more company than what you expected.” She grins and bats her eyelashes at me.

  I straighten up. I have a feeling I know where this is going. “Who?”

  She smiles knowingly at me. I motion for her to spit it out, but I should have known she was going to say it. “Stetson is coming, but you know that. He hitched a ride with Slayter, so I told him to join us.”

  My heart speeds up in my chest. A part of me wants to smile, but I don’t because I don’t need to. I don’t need to be excited over the thought of him walking up any minute, with his golden brown hair and stone gray eyes that can speak an entire paragraph to me without saying a single word.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Lizzie asks, her eyebrows raising in humor.

  “Yeah. Okay. He’s coming. Not like I can kick him out of a public restaurant.”

  She leans back in her seat, taking a bite of the chips and salsa the waiter just delivered. “Hmm. Interesting.”

  I roll my eyes. “Nothing interesting. I just said okay. It’s not like I am excited he’s coming,” I lie. I lie. I lie. He’s aggravating. He’s condescending. He’s sexy. He’s sweet. He’s…

  “Hello, ladies.”

  He’s here.

  I slowly turn my head and my eyes travel from dark washed jeans, over a maroon button up covered by the same jacket I had for almost two weeks. I finally bring my eyes up, scanning over his strong jaw, and once our eyes lock, I swear my heart stops. It halts all function.

  Stop, Charlie. You can’t do this.

  I turn away just as quickly, grabbing a chip to try and distract myself fr
om him. The last thing I want is for him or Lizzie to see that he affects me as much as he does. He doesn’t affect me at all. At. All.

  If I repeat it to myself enough, maybe the tightening in my chest I feel every time he’s around will disappear.

  I cut my eyes up to him. Yeah, that tightening in my chest disappearing is highly unlikely. I look away just as quickly, and look at Lizzie, who is eyeing me curiously. I roll my eyes and shake my head, nervously tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I hear the chair next to me scrape against the concrete floor and I peek out of the corner of my eye as Slayter sits down. His closeness is becoming all too much, all too consuming.

  When he left my apartment the night he came over, I felt a sense of sadness I’ve never felt before. I mean, I spend every second of every day of my life sad, consumed by the grief of not remembering. That feeling never goes away. Some days it’s worse than others. Some days it cripples me to no end. But I’ve never realized how truly lonely I was, I am, and when he left that night, everything became all too real. The loneliness. The pain. The secluded person I’ve made myself become.

  The night before he came over, I was crippled, drowning in the fact that I don’t remember Phoenix. When I’m alone, left in my thoughts, I feel hollow. I’m merely this body maneuvering through life, but not living it because in order to live one must feel, and I haven’t felt anything that wasn’t deep, dark depression since I woke up after the accident.

  That is, not until Slayter.

  He makes me feel something other than pain and it is utterly terrifying. I can’t help but to want to spend time with him, but I can’t allow myself to let it become more than what it is now, which is nothing at all.

  It’s not fair to anyone if I try to have any sort of relationship when I am so messed up a shrink couldn’t fix me. Neurologists and neurosurgeons couldn’t even fix me. I’m beyond repair, and I won’t let anyone walk into the destruction that is my life.

  “You okay?” Lizzie asks, reaching across the table to grab my hand.

  “Yeah. Sorry.” I shake my head, attempting to get back to the here and now. “Was just thinking about something I forgot to do before I left the apartment.”

  “You and your dazing off.”